


Dans le désert, tu es mon Eau.

by fassenheimr (svartalfheimr)



Series: aerial view: attrape-moi si tu peux [7]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Fluff, Hallucinations, Hurt/Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Canon Compliant, POV Multiple, Past Tense, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Present Tense, Sam Wilson Can Talk to Birds, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Torture, or what consists as "fluff" in this series anyway
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-02-22
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:30:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13768056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/svartalfheimr/pseuds/fassenheimr
Summary: Sam doesn't know where he is. He doesn't know what's going on. He's hurt, though. Badly. He's kind of wasted too, and it's not in the good way.Tony is going to get Sam back. Come hell or high water.An IronFalcon soulmate AU, in which Tony knew all along that Sam was his soulmate, but Sam didn't.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sequel to my work “D'entre les mers, il entend ton Écho.”
> 
> Unfortunately, I don't think it can be read as a stand-alone.
> 
> Why yes, hello, welcome back to this Huge Angst Fest™ I'm pretty sure you didn't miss. Why be happy when you can be sad, right? Seriously, though. I'm sorry.
> 
> Sooooo, about this one. There are some TW needed. Okay, there is some beating. And there's nothing kinky or consensual about it. Hence the Mature rating. There's also a character in an altered state (it's drugs, and not the good kind, not that you should do drugs, so don't do drugs kids); and there are off-screen deaths. Minor OCs. Like extras if you want. Also, swearing.  
> Also, FYI: I fracking love T'Challa. He's my King. Aaand he may appear like an asshole here. Depends on how you look at his actions, I guess. Although, let's be honest, I've also made Steve appear like an asshole in this series while I love him. And make Tony thinks he's the bad guy while he isn't. And Wanda is now an angsty teen. And Vision is a weird meep-morp baby slash weirdo. And Rhodey, well. He deserves the world, you know? I'm kind of shitty with them now that I think about it. Isn't there a saying for "the more you love fictional characters the more you treat them like shit because you don't know how to not angst"? It'd be helpful.
> 
> English is not my primary language ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

He failed him. He _fucking_ failed him.

 

Tony didn't know how long he stared at the reservoir. Too long for sure. But once V kicked him into action, Tony jettisoned. He flew off to Wakanda and bulldozed his way to the Royal Palace, completely disrespecting the Accords and even shooting Vision in the chest when the synthezoid tried to stop him. Come hell or high water, Tony was going to have a talk with T'Challa.

 

(He didn't expect Steve to be the one to greet him—he should've.)

 

Tony was in the Mark XLV. Steve wore an Under Armor shirt and sweatpants. He had no shield, no Cap suit, no shadow. It felt like Siberia all over again anyway.

 

The blond raised his hands in the air slowly, carefully. Tony didn't move. He charged his repulsors as a warning but let them face the ground. He let Steve speak first.

 

"Can you hack into a quinjet?"

 

This wasn't what he had expected. His surprise didn't show on the faceplate, and that was a good thing. He powered off his repulsors and took a careful step.

 

"Why?"

 

Steve slowly put his hands down. There was a spark in his eyes—could be relief or something else, Tony didn't know. He didn't care.

 

"We're gonna need one to get him back."

 

There was no doubt about _who_ he referred to. Tony thought that would raise jealousy in him. It didn't, strangely.

 

The UI flashed a picture of Rhodey—an incoming call. Tony knew the line would be secure and that only FRIDAY would be monitoring it. He turned off the speakers and let Rhodey speak first.

 

"I don't like Rogers, but you're going to need him. You've broken several laws in a couple of hours; don't let another one stop you."

 

Tony snorted.

 

"You're supposed to be my Jiminy Cricket, cupcake. Are you alone?"

 

"Nu-uh. The robot is here. FRIDAY gave us your visual feed."

 

"He's not a ro—"

 

Something caught his peripheral vision. The sentence was left hanging, Rhodey's words a ramble at the back of his mind. Tony saw the way his own heartbeat increased, the way his cardiac rhythm strip turned red. What a fucking irony. Tony sneered.

 

"Aren't you supposed to sleep in the freezer?"

 

Barnes walked slowly in front of him, not close enough to be considered dangerous. Tony knew better. The man raised his hands, as slowly as he had walked, and gave him a wry smile. Steve was still staring at Tony, unfazed. Uh. He realized they couldn't hear him. Rhodey, however, could.

 

"Tones, get the fuck away. Ton—"

 

He hung up and activated the external communication speakers. The UI informed him that Quinjet-90214 was at 283 miles from their position, in the middle of nowhere. Tony winced—he was pretty sure this one was not on a UN sanctioned mission. He overrode its guiding system. That'd do. He looked toward Steve and jerked his head so that the movement would be visible outside the armor.

 

"I need to have a chat with Tybalt. We're leaving in an hour."

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

“Why did you stop talking to birds?”

 

Someone else would have sputtered, denied, laughed or even gotten angry if their teammate had asked such an intrusive question. It was, after all, a question that implied that said-teammate was disturbingly aware of the fact that, _yes, maybe,_ Sam had been able to talk to birds when he was a kid. But the thing was, Sam was not _someone else_ , no, Sam Wilson was an idiot. So Sam, in all his idiocy, thought that the first normal thing to do after such question was to gauge Steve's reaction. And not in the _oh God he's gonna think I'm insane_ way, no, in the _Steve is gonna fucking lose it_ way. Sam Wilson was an idiot. But a smart idiot.

 

Because, oh my. Steve's face. It was delightful to see the confusion in his eyes, the crease between his eyebrows, the way the left corner of his mouth upturned. His whole face radiated some kind of anxiety, but not the bad kind, no, the kind that translated as _Oh shuck, if Vision is bugging what am I supposed to do????_ Sam wanted to laugh. Hard. And though he might be an idiot, he was not entirely stupid. He knew what to do. Deny, deny, deny.

 

“What're you talking about, man?”

 

His voice did not waver. He hoped he looked genuinely confused. He probably failed though, since Vision poorly hid the hurt look on his face. Shit. He hurt the damn robot.

 

“I do not understand. You had such a magnificent gift. Why let it go to waste?”

 

Because it was a kid's game, duh. Of course Sam couldn't talk to birds. That would be insane, right?

 

Right.

 

Well, for his defense, his nana truly thought he was insane. And at the time, aliens had not yet came through a fuckin' wormhole above Manhattan, and no one had witnessed whole countries floating in the air or some girl swirling red-whatever with her hands and sending a bomb explode and tear an entire building. So yeah, when Nana said it was silly and that he should stop telling people lies, he stopped talking about it. Then, after a while, he stopped talking to birds because that was a stupid game for little babies and Sam Wilson was no baby, no Sir, Sam was a big man who could wait for the bus on his own so he stopped doing stupid shit and ignored the birds who followed his bus on the way to school.

 

They had stopped talking to him after a while. When he realized he truly could not hear them anymore, he did not cry. No. Sam was a big man. He kept steppin'. He may have started listening to his Walkman every time he went outside, but it had nothing to do with that. He was just a teenager and life was hard when your voice sounded funny and you looked lanky as shit.

 

He startled when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Years of self-control stopped him from reacting badly. Vision was frowning. He felt the robot's hand clench on his shoulder, a soft pulse.

 

“I apologise. I did not intend to hurt you.”

 

Before he could reply, the robot went away, phasing through the wall, and Sam distinctly ignored the way Steve frowned at this and sighed.

 

“Sometimes, I think he does it just to annoy us.”

 

Sam chuckled.

 

“What? Not using the door?”

 

Steve smiled softly and nodded.

 

“Yeah. That.”

 

A loud _thunk_ echoed in the room. Sam turned toward the sound. It was Tony. He was filthy as hell; his armors was drenched and there was mud on his boots. He was soaking on the carpet. The carpet. In _Sam_ 's room.

 

“Man, what the—”

 

Tony opened his mouth and Sam fell silent. The other man said nothing for half a minute. He looked lost. When he spoke though, his voice was soft, raspy, and he broke Sam's world.

 

“Before yelling, just listen to me, okay?”

 

Sam woke up with a start. He couldn't open his eyes. He was hurt. Everywhere. His whole face felt swollen. His eyes probably were. His arms were tied up. He couldn't feel his hands. What, he didn't know, but it must have been some kind of rope. He moved his arms. Not rope, then. Shackles, judging by the sound of it. He'd never been this bad before. He felt heavy. His mouth was dry and his throat hurt like hell and when he tried to open his eyes again, his vision was swimming. It made him nauseous.

 

There was a loud ringing coming from everywhere. It may have been in his head. Sam was too tired to think. He was sleepy. And sore. So sore. He couldn't seem to remember where the hell he was, or what was even going on. Couldn't even remember who were the guys in his dream. He knew them. He was sure of it. He couldn't remember their names.

 

Someone else was here. He could hear them. Couldn't understand them though. Sounded like gibberish. He tried to talk.

 

“Whuuuuu—”

 

His throat hurt like hell and he started coughing and spitting. He was 90% sure it was blood. He could feel someone's breath on his chest. Weird. Was he naked?

 

“Gnnnnnrrrfff—”

 

He felt a huge blow to his face and his mind shut down.

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

"I cannot risk exposure. Not when we just opened ourselves to the world."

 

Tony snorted. Talk about some safe haven. T'Challa frowned. He must've said it out loud.

 

"I do not have to justify myself to you. If Captain Rogers and Sergeant Barnes want to leave with you, I won't stop them. I will offer them shelter again if they may need it. But my people comes first."

 

"For someone who sees his heavily-armed country as the pride and joy of Earth, you sure as hell cower easily when a small dictator is involved."

 

The warrior besides T'Challa glared at him. Tony didn't care. If she wanted a fight, he'd give her one. Lashing out was definitely not the best method of action but he was Tony Stark. He'd figure something out and get what he wanted in the end. He huffed and abruptly raised his hands in a placating gesture. Seeing the warrior twitch was a bonus.

 

"You know what? I don't care. Don't worry, you won't get caught in this shit storm. Your hands will stay clean. That's what you want, right? Then keep them clean. Tell the UN you weren't aware of anything. Tell them your kingdom is a lighthouse for mankind. I just hope for you that when I get Sam back," because it was only a matter of _when_ , Tony knew, "you'd be able to look him in the eyes and tell him your decision was for the best. Because guilt, your Highness, is a special kind of torture that never stops. You can trust me on that one."

 

Tony didn't wait for an answer. He walked toward the door, went outside, let the suit take him to the skies and opened a line to the freshly stolen quinjet hovering above the clouds. His comms activated, he heard Steve clearing his throat.

 

"Iron Man, you're the only one visible on the radar."

 

Tony flew closer to the quinjet and kept close-by. He didn't ask for Steve to open the cargo door. Steve didn't. After half a minute of static, Tony coughed.

 

"Activate the retroreflective panels and enter the coordinates I'm sending you."

 

He saw the panels engaging. It was followed by a long silence. Steve didn't ask if they were to wait for backup.

 

"Copy that, Iron Man. Autopilot is on."

 

x

 

“—and then I was alone. _Completely_ alone. I mean, with my health and all, I couldn't drink without throwing up two minutes later, so at least I was sober. So I found myself in a back alley expecting Buck to be behind, but when I turned around there was only a black cat giving me the stink eye.”

 

Sam was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe. Natasha was much less expressive, but the glint in her eyes was unmistakable. Steve grinned.

 

“So I retraced back my steps, and I turned around the corner and heard this very, very loud snoring coming from a garbage can. And behind it, I could see two very distinctive boots and an arm clutching the can like it was a pillow. It took me at least an hour to wake him up. He was so drunk he kept pestering me and saying I was going to wake Nancy up.”

 

“Nancy?”

 

“I think that was the garbage can. I'm still not sure, to be honest?”

 

Sam couldn't breathe, he was laughing too hard. He could see at the corners of his eyes that Natasha was hiding her smile behind her drink and that Steve was grinning like a fool. Sam was happy. They may have been tired as hell and in a distressingly dingy bar in Honduras, but for Sam it almost felt like home after so many miles running after a ghost they had yet to find. He gulped what was left of his honestly shitty beer and took a deep breath. He turned his head to look at Natasha but she wasn't there anymore. When he looked back at Steve he wasn't there either. He saw movement on his peripheral vision and jumped in a fighting stance.

 

Tony was staring at him. He looked pained. He was in his armor, faceplate opened. There was mud on the floor. Before Sam could ask what the hell was going on, he raised a hand and took a deep breath.

 

“Before yelling, just listen to me, okay?”

 

Sam was woken up by a huge blow to his stomach. He tried to yell, but his throat hurt and he couldn't make a sound. He felt dizzy. Everything hurt. Someone was speaking. He couldn't understand. He felt himself panicking. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't—

 

“No one coming for you, American.”

 

He felt an electric shock. He tried to yell. He didn't understand what the hell was going on. He tried to kick his legs toward the voice but his limbs felt so heavy. He couldn't move. He felt a pinch at the side of his throat. He felt himself falling on the ground, the sound of shackles opening. He couldn't feel his mouth anymore. He was going to die. He was going to die, he was going to die, he was going to—

 

 

 

The light is too bright. Sam groans. He had a weird dream. Can't remember it clearly, though. He keeps his eyes shut and turns on the other side of the bed. It's warm. It's comfy. He doesn't have to wake up yet. He still has time. He thinks he falls back asleep for a while. It's so warm. His pillow is just the way he likes it, a bit firm. He pushes his arm behind it and feels something else. It's warm. It moves and gets closer to his arm. It tickles. It's a hand. He feels fingers on his cheek. He smiles and blearily opens his eyes. It's too bright, he scrunches up his nose and closes his eyes back. He feels a huff on his face, and the fingers are more prodding. They trace random patterns on his cheek. His eyebrow. His nose. Sam sighs contently. He feels it in his gut—the moment the other one is going to speak. Sam puts blindly the hand that isn't entwined behind his pillow on the other's face and opens his eyes.

 

“Shut up. Just shut up.”

 

He puts his hand back at his side and is greeted by an all too familiar look. Sam has seen him looking at him many times like that when the other thought he wouldn't notice. He realizes it's a mix between sadness, longing and anxiety. Sam doesn't know how he hadn't realized it before.

 

It's very hard to keep Tony Stark from talking when the man wants to, but apparently Sam can. It makes him sigh. When he does, Tony's face transforms. There are no worry lines anymore, and he looks content and rested and, well, _happy_. It takes Sam's breath away because he thinks he's never seen him like that. He's beautiful.

 

Tony lies beside him like he has not a care in the world, and Sam knows it's not real. He knows. It can't be—because they can't have this. He doesn't know why but he knows. It pains him, and the other man seems to sense his distress because he cups his face with both his hands and makes them sit, facing each other. Sam sits on his knees. Tony moves and traps Sam's legs between his.

 

Oddly, Sam realizes that Tony's not in the suit and this information seems important. He doesn't know why. What he knows however, is that he can't let the other man speaks. So Sam put a hand on Tony's mouth.

 

“Don't say it. The moment you say it, this is over. And I don’t want this to end.”

 

And then he gets it. The loop. The way he keeps seeing Tony like— like he was that night. Sam is revisiting memories, but there's always this twist at the end that never happened; Tony, in his armor, with mud from a forest and Wakanda and pained and telling him his Words. It always ends there. And the thing is, Sam  _knows_ this is not a memory. It's a dream. And this one, Sam doesn't want it to end. He likes this one; he wants to stay in this one. So he keeps his hand on Tony's mouth even if there is pleading in Tony's eyes. And Sam knows. God, he knows. They can't stay here, like that, forever. But damn, it doesn't mean this has to end so quickly. Sam's throat tightens. He doesn't want this to end. He sees the way Tony's throat bobble. He feels vibration on his palm and realizes the other is trying to talk. A sob escapes.

 

“Let me have this. Don't make me go back. Let me stay. _Please_.”

 

They don't kiss. They don't embrace. It's painful for Sam to realize that he doesn't even let himself have this in the private space of his own mind. His hand trembles and he puts it on the other man's thigh, and he is relieved when he realizes Tony doesn't try to speak. The other man just looks at him, his eyes following the movement of his own hands, stroking the side of Sam's face, his chin, his ears, the crown of his head. Sam doesn't let his eyelids shut. He's too worried the other man won't be there when he reopens them. He purposefully ignores the way the lighting changes. The way the room darkens. The way mud is suddenly appearing on the bed besides Tony. Everything is falling into place, like pieces of a puzzle and Sam hates it. So he ignores the way his dream is going and wills it to stop. It doesn't work. But Sam is a stubborn man, so he ignores it and stares at Tony.

 

What he can't ignore, it seems, is when Tony's hands stop moving. When his face contorts. His eyes are haunted. He's paling. He looks lost. Sam feels the way the fingers stroking his nape start to shake. No, no, no, no—He violently shakes his head and puts his hands on Tony's wrists, keeping them where they are, willing them to keep touching him. He can't lose this, he can't let him—

 

“No, baby, no. Don't speak. Don't speak please.”

 

Tony's eyes glaze over. Sam's losing him. He can't, he can't, he can't—

 

“Look at me. Look at me, please, _look at me_.”

 

The fingers on his nape feel cold. And distinctly like metal. Sam's vision blurs and he can feel tears running on his cheeks. He hears the whirs. Sees the distinctly blue light coming from Tony's chest. It's exactly like fucking pieces of a shit puzzle. One second his vision is blurry and the other Tony is already in his armor. There's fucking mud everywhere.

 

“Don't, no, no, n—”

 

And then his throat tightens and Sam can't talk and he's staring at Tony and Tony is in the armor and the armor is drenched and there's mud everywhere and Sam wants to scream and moves and stops him from speaking and _don't speak don't speak don't s_ —

 

Tony's gauntlet touches his lips. Sam sees him smile. It's a deprecating one. He can't keep the tears from falling. He hears the whirs indicating the armor is moving and so Sam closes his eyes and wills himself to be deaf, anything that will stop Tony from speaking. He feels the other man's forehead touching his gently. Feels the other's breath on his face, escaped in a pained and tired sigh. Sam sobs. He wants to move his head up and kiss the idiot but he can't move and he can’t speak and he knows, _he knows_ , he can't stop Tony from saying his Words.

 

His heart feels torn apart. He doesn't think he's ever been in this much pain. He wants to laugh. He's never been what is considered a hopeless romantic. He has his things, though. He loves to buy flowers for his dates. Loves to leave little sarcastic notes in places he knows they'll find when he isn't around. Loves to bring breakfast in bed and make love after.

 

He thinks he could buy Tony a baby tree. It's not flowers. It's not something that will fade and die after a while. It's something that will live and grow and flourish. It's something that will fade only to be reborn.

 

He thinks he could leave stupid notes on the bathroom mirror. _You know_ _, men could wage wars for this ugly mug._ He could leave thousands in the workshop, hidden in the rags Tony uses to wipe grease. _I wasn't talking about this_ _kind of dirty._

 

He doesn't think Tony is the type to eat breakfast in bed. But it's alright. He's okay with going straight to dessert.

 

Sam keeps sobbing. He knows he's only buying time. And it pains him even more. Tony's gauntlets are on each side of his cheeks. In an act of strength he didn't know he has, Sam rises on his knees, his eyes closed. He pushes the other man on his back and when the other goes down willingly, he straddles the armor, takes Tony's face in his hands, makes their nose bump into each other, makes their lips slightly touch. They're sharing the same air. Sam doesn't want this to end. He wants to stay like with, with  _him_ , forever. He doesn't kiss him. He feels the other's lips open and Sam thinks _this is it_.

 

And he's not okay with that. He's not okay with Tony saying his Words. Not now. Late, though, he wants to feel them. He wants to feel the way they make the other man's lips move, the way they will release his breath. But now he'd rather not. He tries to tempt fate. To break the circle. He speaks first.

 

“I won't yell. I promise I'll listen. So talk to me. And don't stop. Just— Don't stop.”

 

He hears the other man keen. Sam keeps his eyes close and hopes, _prays_ for this moment to never end. Because he knows, he  _knows_ he may never have this. So he doesn't want it to end. He doesn't want it to end because it has never started. He knows this isn't real. What's  _real_ is the fact that he may never have this. And Sam can't bear it. 

 

“Talk to me. Tony, talk to me. I'll listen. I won't yell. I won't, you have my word. Just talk to me. Tell me everything. Just speak and don't stop.”

 

Sam feels his cheek dampen. He's not crying. It's not his tears.

 

“Baby, please. Just talk to me. I just want to hear your voice. I just want to hear you laugh. I want to hear you. I want to listen to you. So please, talk. Talk and don't stop. I won't yell. Talk to me.  _Please_.”

 

He feels the way Tony's breath is uneven. Hears his voice waver. Sam is hoping. He starts smiling, because he feels he won. Tony is going to talk, and they're going to stay here and he won't wake up and he'll listen to him and everything's going to be okay and—

 

“Before yelling, just listen to me, okay?”

 

 

 

x

 

 

 

Vision said he knew where Sam was. It was something Tony was mildly horrified but curious about, because there was no way FRIDAY found him and didn’t tell Tony first.

 

He could remember flying besides the Quinjet. Landing in front of the building Vision said Sam was held up. Ignoring Steve's words. Ignoring Barnes entirely.

 

Besides that, well. He could remember his vision turning red and. That was it.

 

Around him, the world was in chaos. Half of the building was destroyed. There were people around laying down, unmoving. He wagered they would probably never get back up. It should scare him how little he cared at the moment. He felt numb. He could hear Steve talking in the coms but he couldn't understand. His world was in chaos. He kept staring at the puddle of blood in front of him. The chains mounted on the ceiling. So much blood. He just—he just saw the blood and. He didn't know what happened after but. Barnes appeared on his peripheral vision and went straight to the blood. Tony saw him scream in rage but couldn't hear him. It only fueled him and. Everything was in ruins now.

 

There was fire on his left side. The building was collapsing. He realised he was probably the one at fault. Or maybe it was Barnes. He didn't know. He didn't care.

 

Sam wasn't here.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY GUYS. If the ending is too angsty and bitter for you, go to the second chapter. Consider it like a preview of the next installment. If you're okay with this ending, then you can just stop and wait for the next installment.
> 
> The second chapter is *not* a chapter per se, it's just a little bit more dialogue which offers a less angsty ending. I just realised it may be a little too cruel to end it here, so the choice is yours!


	2. Chapter 2

"Iron Man."

 

Sam wasn't here.

 

"Iron Man, come in."

 

He wasn't here. There was so much blood.

 

**"TONY**."

 

Tony grunted.

 

"Yeah."

 

There was silence. Barnes waved at him, from where he stood. He didn’t came closer, but he seemed to want to catch his attention, to tell him to follow him. Tony knew why he didn't use the coms. He wouldn't show it, but he was grateful. He didn't think he could hear him knowing that—

 

"Tony, I found him. I got him, I—I got Sam."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


End file.
